


just wanna believe in you and me

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. zayn is a med student with a crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just wanna believe in you and me

**Author's Note:**

> heyaaaaaa, all. happy valentine's day! i hope it's all great and wonderful and you're all very happy.
> 
> this fic is for mahima, my one true valentine. i love you very much and i hope this fulfills all of your doctor niall and zayn dreams.
> 
> big thaaaaanks to leighanne, blake, and amber for reading and plotting, etc. love you all the most. also big thank you to [janelle](http://peteparker.tumblr.com/) for making this lovely header. you're all the best.
> 
> enjoy!

Possibly the best thing about having a roommate who’s a bartender is that he knows your drink without you having to say a word. With the music loud and ringing in Zayn’s ears he takes a sip of his second — third? — whiskey sour of the evening, leaning against the bar.

It’s Thursday night, which means it’s his usual day for visiting Liam at work. Louis texted saying he’s running late, though that doesn’t come as any surprise.

“Always drinking alone, aren’t you Malik?” Nick’s voice comes from a few feet away. He’s got a towel over his shoulder, uncapping a beer and handing it to someone Zayn doesn’t know as he snorts into his glass.

“Don’t see anything wrong with that,” Zayn says. 

“Hair’s getting long,” Nick comments, flicking a piece of it. Zayn laughs, running a hand through it. “That’s what the kids are into these days? Long hair and skinny jeans?”

Zayn nods, “Something along those lines.”

“Damn youth these days. Can’t keep up,” Nick whines, taking a dirty class and putting it into a dish bin.

“Hope you’re being nice, Grimshaw,” Liam says as he passes by them, whipping his towel at Nick’s arm playfully.

“I’m always very pleasant,” Nick argues, pouting. “Let me know when you need more,” he says to Zayn before moving to serve someone else. 

It’s student night on Thursdays, whatever that means, so the place is almost always packed. Even where Zayn’s sitting he’s got people pressed in on both sides, talking loudly with one another as he takes another sip of his drink.

There’s karaoke, which is standard. A guy’s up singing that Zayn thinks he’s seen around before — dark hair, curly, shirt unbuttoned an obscene amount and singing loudly into the microphone stand he’s rather inappropriately caressing.

“ _Christ_ , one of these days he’s going to hump that thing right on stage,” Louis’ voice comes as he slides in next to Zayn, just barely fitting.

“I don’t think he’s really trying to censor himself here,” Zayn says. Louis nods, glancing around as he whistles.

“Fucking packed in here, isn’t it?” he asks. And without even prompting him, Liam sends a Louis Regular his way — rum and Coke. “Liam, have I told you I love you?”

Liam rolls his eyes, batting Louis’ face away where he’s practically hanging off the bar. “Don’t embarrass me at my job,” he says, not any part of his words serious before pressing a quick kiss to Louis’ forehead; moving onto the next group of rather demanding customers.

“Think you should go up there and sing,” Louis suggests, but Zayn’s only really half listening right now.

There’s someone else he notices in the ground, beside Brown Haired Boy, and it’s enough to get Zayn’s full attention. He’s smiling widely — glass of what looks like beer in his hands, cheeks flushed and talking animatedly Zayn finds himself dying to know what it is. Wants nothing more than to be the one Blonde Haired Boy is talking to, snapback backwards on his head and his smile big and bright and all consuming it’s hard not to get sucked in.

“Earth to _Zayn_ ,” Nick’s voice comes, snapping his finger by his ear abruptly.

“Shit,” Zayn says, jumping. “What the fuck,” he adds, hearing Louis laugh.

“You got a bit — distracted,” Louis says. “Which one is it? Microphone Caresser?” he asks, looking over at the large crowd of them near the small makeshift stage.

“No,” Zayn snaps moodily; and takes a long, extended sip of his drink while wishing himself to somehow turn into a rafter in the roof.

“My money’s on the blonde one,” Nick says. “Zayn’s got a type.”

“No I don’t,” Zayn says stubbornly.

Nick smirks, “Yes, you do. Snapbacks, blonde, and horrible fashion taste.”

Zayn looks over at Blonde Haired Boy. The usual skinny jeans and plaid shirt. “What’s wrong with what he’s wearing?”

“I was right,” Nick says, “cough up the money, Tomlinson.”

“What the fuck,” Louis mutters, slapping a bill into Nick’s extended hand. “What’s he even studying, a Frat Boy Degree?”

“Med student,” Nick supplies helpfully.

Louis blinks over his glass at Zayn. Zayn knows that look. Zayn wants to _avoid_ that look. “A med student, really?”

“Shut up,” Zayn says, turning to face the other way.

“So you know him?” Louis presses, because he’s a nosey asshole.

“His name’s Niall,” Liam says. Traitor.

“You know his _name_?” Louis asks, pressing a finger into Zayn’s side.

Zayn groans, pressing his hands against his face. “I just want to have my drink in peace,” he says, glaring over at Louis pointedly.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easily,” Louis says. “You spend most of every Thursday night ignoring me and watching that kid over there.”

Zayn doesn’t move his hand from covering his face. “I spend most of every Thursday night listening to you and drinking to forget all my troubles.”

Louis huffs, annoyed. “So his name’s Niall. What’s he studying.”

“Medicine.” Zayn answers flatly.

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Louis says, finishing his drink. “I _did_ manage to gather that from med student, Malik. What _area_ of medicine.”

“Why don’t we talk about your day,” Zayn asks, very terribly changing the topic.

“I helped build a house. Got bossed around by men in overalls for most of that time spent building a house. I got stuck in traffic. And now I’m asking you about Mr. Niall over there,” Louis says.

Zayn swallows, ignoring the urge to glance over and see if Niall’s still over there. He’s been found out. “You’ve always been a great storyteller, you know,” Zayn tells him sarcastically.

“Don’t make me get Liam over here to pry it out of you,” Louis threatens.

“What, need your boyfriend as backup?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not giving you back that sweater I borrowed,” Louis continues.

Zayn yawns, “I didn’t want it back anyway. There’s a hole in it.”

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Louis swears under his breath. 

The night goes on mostly like this. Louis asking about Niall. Zayn not answering him. Liam giving them more drinks. And Nick adding unhelpful comments every now and again, making it all a very tiresome night when Zayn finally gets through the door.

He’s on the verge of being drunk — thanks a lot, Liam — as he crawls into bed slowly, the world spinning as he pulls his blankets up over himself.

—

“Malik, I’m going to take you out of this hospital myself, aren’t I?”

It’s somewhere around nine in the morning, and Zayn hasn’t slept in around twenty-four hours. He looks up from whatever file he’s going through, seeing Greg James a little ways away from him.

“No I, you know. Sleep, occasionally,” Zayn manages to get out, shrugging.

Greg shakes his head, not convinced. “Perrie told me you were here when she got here yesterday morning and you haven’t left since.”

“I just — have some people I need to check up on,” Zayn says, motioning to the file in front of him. 

He doesn’t seem convinced, putting what looks to be a to-go cup of coffee beside Zayn’s arm. “Finish that file. Check on your last patient, and then _go home_. Understood?”

It’s not a question. Zayn sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands before nodding reluctantly. “Thank you, for this,” he says, holding up the cup. He smells hazelnut. And espresso. Greg James might be some sort of god sent here to bless Zayn, truthfully.

“I’m coming to check to make sure you’ve left in a little while,” Greg adds, pointing a finger at Zayn before he starts off down the hallway again.

He hasn’t been awake the _entire_ time he’s been here. At one point he was forced to take a nap on an empty bed, as per Bressie’s request, but that had only been for a little over an hour.

The coffee’s not bad; which is probably because it isn’t from the cafeteria downstairs. Zayn holds it in his hands, cherishing it against his cold skin while looking over the last of his files. 

It’s the middle of Boston winter; snow littered on the ground, the air bitter and cold and just generally miserable. Or in Zayn’s opinion, at least, he thinks to himself. He glances to Caroline at the nurses station, closing his file and beginning to feel the familiar feeling of exhaustion start to settle in.

“I’m under strict orders to tell you you have to leave when you’re done checking up on Mrs. Watson,” Caroline says, giving Zayn a look.

Zayn nods in understanding. Without another word on the subject he finishes the last of his cup, throwing it into the trashcan before walking down to a familiar room.

It’s surprisingly quietest in the early afternoon, before lunch when everyone’s settled down. Those long, extended periods of silence that Zayn’s most thankful for — hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat as he knocks on a door, once.

“Come in,” comes a voice.

Mrs. Deborah Watson. Aged forty-five. Grew up in Pennsylvania, moved to Boston when she married her husband Richard almost thirty years ago, has three kids. Two of them are married, the other still in school. She’s all of those things on paper, but in person she’s something more to Zayn. 

One of those soft, gentle sorts that finds a way to get into your heart without even realizing. “Ah, Zayn,” she says, putting her book down with a smile. “Or — sorry. Doctor Malik.”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head. “I told you Zayn’s fine,” he says, standing at the foot of her bed. He can see Richard’s things on one of the chairs — a cardigan; book. 

“Richard’s just gone down to get himself something to eat,” Deborah explains, “should I call him to come back up?”

Zayn takes in a deep breath, shifting his weight. “No, no. I was just wanting to see how you were feeling, with the new treatments,” he says.

The sun’s out. It’s brighter in winter, with all the snow on the ground. Some kind of hope in an otherwise long, tiring season.

“Besides the usual?” she teases. Zayn nods. “I mean, I feel the same. I can always let you know if that changes.”

“You have my number,” Zayn says. Deborah smiles again, reading glasses pushed up on top of her head.

“How are you surviving this cold?” she asks, “does it torture your California roots?”

Zayn laughs. “Think I’m doing alright,” he says.

“Alright, well. I’ll keep toughing this out, if you keep toughing your’s out. Deal?”

“Deal,” Zayn promises, giving everything one last check before he’s out the door.

“Go home!” Perrie sing-songs as she passes him by, Jade attached at her hip; as the usual norm. 

Zayn smiles, making his way toward the locker room with every intention of going home and sleeping until he has to come back to this place. Which, isn’t a very long time between, but he’ll take it. 

There’s a vending machine by the locker rooms, Zayn getting some change out of his pocket as he leans his forehead against the glass in silent defeat. 

The true picture of a broken man, Zayn narrates inside his head as he punches in the number for a protein bar. A7.

It doesn’t come. Zayn blinks, waiting, but there’s nothing. He gave an entire two dollars and five fucking cents with nothing to show for it. “Fuck,” he curses to a vending machine, kicking at it with his shoe.

Kicking doesn’t help. Neither does shaking it, punching in the numbers aggressively multiple times, or swearing at it. And so here the story of a broken man ends, Zayn thinks to himself as he closes his eyes in silent defeat.

He’s still hungry as fuck. 

Before seriously going through contemplating eating his own fist, there’s movement beside him. “Did it get stuck again?” a voice he doesn’t know asks. “This fucking thing, I swear to God. Useless. Doesn’t do absolutely anything.”

It’s Blonde Haired Boy. Niall, Zayn corrects himself quickly. “What,” Zayn asks, stunned.

Niall looks at him, smiling in clear amusement. “This machine,” he clarifies. “Eats my fucking change every time. So I found a way around it.”

Zayn blinks, waiting. Niall seems to take the cue — and with one very aggressive shoulder check to the glass, the glorious protein bar tumbles down. He takes it out, handing it to Zayn.

“You’re a vending machine wizard,” Zayn blurts out.

Niall laughs, and Zayn finds himself very proud of that fact. “Just have a sad amount of knowledge about this place,” he says, handing it over to Zayn. 

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the bar. Chocolate chip, he reads over it briefly. 

“Anytime. If you ever need help getting your protein bars — you know where to find me,” Niall tells Zayn with a wink before pushing the door to the elevators.

Well, then.

— 

“It’s a protein bar, not a marriage proposal.”

Liam snorts where he’s in front of the stove, cooking. “All I’m saying is that you could’ve offered to suck his dick in thanks,” Louis says where he’s sitting beside the stove on the counter, picking at a bun and stuffing a bit of it into his mouth.

Zayn’s eyes widen in horror, “You give the _worst_ advice.”

“What, you think he wouldn’t be down for having his dick in your mouth?” Louis asks, pulling a bit of his fringe out of his face. “Honestly, Zayn.”

“Oh my God,” Zayn groans, pressing his forehead against the top of the table. “I don’t even know why I tell you anything.”

“Because I lend a caring, listening ear,” Louis says.

Liam snorts a second time. “Why don’t you just, ask him for coffee,” Liam suggests. “You can, you know. Saving the dick sucking for later.”

Zayn lifts his head a little, shoulders hunched pathetically as he sighs. “Isn’t that, like. Painfully obvious?” he asks, clicking his tongue in consideration. “Let’s get some coffee is like — very clearly code for ‘hey, I like you’?”

Louis makes a face. “Seriously, Malik. Where have you been getting your dating advice.”

“ _You_ ,” Liam says. Louis flicks his ear. 

“Shut up.” Louis scowls.

— 

Next week Thursday, they do the same thing. Louis is late, Zayn waiting for him at the bar as Liam slides him his drink. 

Except this time however, someone unfamiliar to Zayn slides up beside him. He pauses, the usual rejection of, “Sorry, but I’m waiting for someone —” just on the tip of his tongue until they speak.

“I think I know you,” he says, pointing a finger toward Zayn. Long Haired Mic Caresser, Zayn thinks briefly to himself. He blinks, waiting for them to continue. “You’re — familiar.”

“You’re drunk,” Zayn points out. He pushes his finger down where it’s still pointing at Zayn square in the chest, making him slightly uncomfortable. 

“No, I’m Harry,” he responds, grinning. A hiccup soon follows after it. “That was a joke, get it?”

Nick snorts so loudly he sounds as though he might’ve pulled something from it. Zayn shifts on his stool. “Hi, Harry,” he says flatly.

“Are you going to tell your name, or do I have to guess,” Harry says, pouting.

“Zayn,” Nick says simply.

Zayn shoots him a glare. Who’s side is he on, anyway? “Shit,” Harry mumbles, eyes wide in what Zayn assumes to be recognition.

He’s really not sure what to expect next. “You’re McDreamy,” Harry says.

“What,” Zayn asks in disbelief.

Nick’s full on laughing now, body shaking with it as Zayn feels his cheeks begin to burn. “My roommate, Niall? Don’t know if you know him —”

“Oh, we know him,” Liam adds in and when the fuck did Liam get here?

“You’re this like, other student he’s always talking about. Calls you McDreamy,” Harry explains, hands gesturing about ridiculously. “But you know, personally? I’d say you’re more a McSteamy.” 

“What,” Zayn repeats, now mildly horrified.

“I think our friend Harry made it very clear what he means,” Nick says. Zayn needs another drink. Or several. “Or did you not hear him correctly, _McSteamy_.”

God, Zayn hates his friends. And his entire existence.

“But your name is Zayn,” Harry says, reaching out and poking Zayn’s cheek. “I was beginning to wonder if Niall was ever going to figure out what your name is.”

“Dunno, McDreamy might stick,” Liam comments. Zayn flips him off.

He really, truly, hates his life.

“Is Niall coming tonight?” Nick asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Has a night shift, apparently.”

“Shame,” Nick says, frowning. 

“I’ll text him who I’m with though,” Harry says, pulling out his phone.

Zayn finishes his drink. Nick wordlessly gives him another one and silently thankful Niall isn’t here. 

“Always count life’s blessings, Malik,” as Louis always tells him, just so he can be an annoying idiot. And for once, it finally rings true.

—

Deborah’s treatment isn’t working.

Zayn’s been here for almost twelve hours and he can’t find a fucking way around it. The results came back, and he can’t fucking change it. There’s a new treatment they could try, that could possibly help.

He’s in a chair, papers in front of him — but he’s looked over them so many times there isn’t anything else he can do, really. Zayn tiredly rubs his eyes, knowing he should go home and get some sleep, but he can’t seem to bring himself to leave until he finds a solution.

Eventually Perrie sends him home, and Zayn brings himself to the cafeteria for some shitty coffee before he goes.

It’s weak and no amounts of sugar or milk can save it, but it’s caffeine. So Zayn drinks it and tells himself that it’s some sort of complicated latte that he can’t remember the name of, to try and make it more bearable. 

Not too mention having a cafeteria with shitty coffee fulfills every single cliched stereotype in films and tv shows, but. Nothing he can do to change that.

Louis texted, asking if Zayn’s sucked any blonde haired boy’s dicks today, and he’s about to reply in all caps to _LEAVE ME ALONE, LEWIS_ when he quite literally bumps into someone. 

His shitty coffee nearly goes flying, letting out an embarrassingly high pitched, surprised sound. By some stroke of dumb luck his coffee doesn’t spill, and the person starts stringing out a long apology, when Zayn recognizes his voice. 

“Is this payback for not splitting my protein bar with you?” Zayn jokes. God, he needs to work on his jokes. Or, you know, his entire life.

Niall laughs, cheeks still flushed from their collision near moments ago. “I’m a big fan of the chocolate chip ones,” he says, shrugging. 

Zayn smiles, “I mean, by some luck we’re in a hospital.” If Louis were here he’d smack Zayn. Right across the head. And he’d deserve it.

Niall’s looking at him, head tilted and an expression of concern on his features. “You alright though?” he asks, like some sort of fucking mind reader. “You seem — dunno. Upset.”

“Just tired,” Zayn lies quickly, brushing it off.

Niall frowns, “Don’t think lying to me is a good way to start off our friendship.”

Zayn sighs, putting his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. It’s one of Liam’s, worn and big and comforting; smells like cologne and stale beer. “I’m just.” Zayn pauses, licking his lips as he exhales. God, he needs a smoke. “One of my patients isn’t doing so great.”

Niall nods, slowly, in understanding. “Oncology, right?” he asks. Zayn nods, swallowing thickly. “Alright, well. Throw that shitty coffee out and we can get started.”

Zayn blinks, but does as he’s asked. Or more so told, really, where he throws his half empty cup into the nearest trash can. Niall’s pediatrics, he remembers. Follows him into the ward, which is unfamiliar and painted very bright colours.

“Bit much at first,” Niall tells him, apparently noticing Zayn’s wince at the yellow walls. “But you get used to it. Eventually.”

Niall looks about as tired as Zayn probably feels, approaching the nurses’ station. “Jesy, my love,” he starts, leaning against the counter.

Jesy doesn’t look up where she’s signing some sort of paper. “What is it, Horan. I’ve got a lot to do.”

“I know, I know, but,” Niall says. Jesy sighs. “I need some of that good coffee you get, when you go on your run.”

“Fine. But you owe me,” she says after a moment.

“I love you the most, did you know?” Niall says, making loud, obnoxious kissing sounds. 

Jesy waves her hand. “Get away from me. What does your hot friend want.”

Niall laughs. Or more so cackles. Zayn blinks. “Who, me?” he asks in slight disbelief.

“Yes, you. Who else is standing around here that’s hot,” Jesy says, unfazed. Niall coughs. “It’s not you, Horan. Calm your dick.”

“I, um. An americano, maybe,” Zayn says.

Jesy nods. “An americano for hot friend. Got it.”

“His name is Zayn,” Niall says. Jesy ignores him.

“I’ll bring it back in a bit,” she says, picking up her papers and walking away. “Come and get it yourself because I’m not bringing it to you.”

“Look at that,” Niall says, impressed. Zayn feels himself noticeably blush. “Already won over Jesy. That’s a talent, truly.”

“Shut up,” Zayn mumbles.

Niall doesn’t seem all that deterred, starting off down the hallway. Zayn follows, not saying anything as they enter a room.

“Niall!” a girl calls from her bed. Her left arm is in a cast. “I beat the next level of that game you showed me!”

“Good job Anna,” Niall says, approaching her bed. “How’s that arm of yours holding up?”

Anna frowns, clearly not in the mood to discuss the state of her clearly injured arm. “Hurts a little,” she tells him truthfully.

Niall tuts, “On a scale of one to ten?”

“Four.” 

“If it gets past a five you tell the nurse, understood?” Anna nods. “Good. Now, I have something for you. But you can’t tell Nurse Jesy I got it for you.”

Zayn finds himself smiling, leaning against the doorway silently. From his pocket, Niall pulls out a red lollipop. Anna makes a loud, delighted sound. “Thank you, Niall!” she tells him, eyes wide and happy as she takes off the wrapping.

“I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow before you leave, alright?” he says, ruffling a bit of her curly hair.

She’s too preoccupied to notice them leave, Niall walking two doors down into the next room. “Lucas?” he calls out, stepping inside. All they’re greeted with is a cough. “How are you feeling?”

“Not good,” the boy, Lucas, says from his bed.

Niall approaches him, pressing a hand to to his forehead. “Your fever came back didn’t it?” he asks. Lucas nods, frowning. “Lift up your shirt for me, alright bud?”

“It’s always so cold,” Lucas whines as Niall takes out his stethoscope.

He pauses, looking at it for a moment. Then, seemingly getting an idea, Niall breathes on it. “Better?” he asks. Lucas doesn’t say anything, just lifts up his shirt as previously asked.

“Alright breathe in,” Niall instructs. “Now out.”

This goes on for about half a minute, until Niall tells him to pulls his shirt back down. “Chest still hurts, right?”

Lucas looks on the verge of crying. But Niall doesn’t seem at all worried, voice even and patient, “Alright, well. I’m going to have them bring you another round of medicine, and some lunch. How does that sound?”

“Good,” Lucas says, meaning it.

“I’ll check on you later, how does that sound,” Niall asks. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll bring those candies you like?”

“Gummy bears?” Lucas asks, face brightening. Niall nods.

“Get some rest, alright? The nurse will be in in a bit,” he tells Lucas before leaving, Zayn still beside him.

“That was the last one,” Niall reassures him, “just had to do one last check before I go. Wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about it if I didn’t.”

“You’re good with them,” Zayn says honestly. Niall smiles, sheepish. “No, I mean it. Like, really good with them.”

“Stop sweet talking me,” Niall says.

“I could come up with a nickname for you, would that be better?” Zayn asks. Niall groans, putting an embarrassed hand over his face. 

“I’m going to kill Harry.” Niall mumbles.

“Don’t. I thought it was cute,” Zayn reassures him.

“You did?” Niall asks, looking over at him. 

“Mhm,” Zayn hums, yawning into the back of his hand. He could really use that americano right about now. 

“Does this give me permission to ask you out on a date, then?”

Zayn just about trips over his own two feet. “Date?” he repeats.

“Yeah, you know. Dinner. Maybe some wine, or beer. Candlelight. All that cheesy stuff,” Niall explains.

He narrowly misses walking head first into a cart full of bedsheets. “A date sounds, you know. Sounds great,” he says.

“You free next weekend?” Niall proposes. 

“Yes,” Zayn responds. 

“Saturday night, eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up from yours,” Niall says.

“Sounds good,” Zayn tells him, but he can’t seem to stop smiling. 

Niall gives Zayn his number before he leaves, the automatic doors of the hospital opening — americano in hand and Niall’s number now programmed into his phone.

So possibly not the worst day ever, maybe.

— 

“That all went rather quickly,” Louis says from across the table that night. 

Zayn makes a face where him and Liam are holding hands over the table. “Don’t you need two hands to eat,” he asks, pointing a fork at them.

Louis rolls his eyes. “When’s your date, then,” he asks, stabbing a pea. 

“Saturday,” Zayn answers, reaching for a roll.

Liam makes a sound. And when Zayn looks up, they’re both staring at him with wide eyes and blank expressions. “ _This_ Saturday?” Louis asks.

“Yes?” Zayn replies, now feeling as though he’s missed some horribly large event that day. Their wedding? _His_ wedding?

“Do you know what day Saturday is,” Liam asks now, eyeing Zayn.

“Well, no. Not off-hand,” Zayn says, swallowing a mouthful of chicken.

“Valentine’s Day, you knob,” Louis so helpfully tells him.

“And? Your point?” Zayn’s horribly confused now. Valentine’s Day isn’t even that important, from where he’s sitting.

“I mean, this means he’ll be out of the house,” Liam tries to whisper in Louis’ ear, but fails horribly.

Zayn groans, “Cutting my ears off now, thanks.”

“Think we can lock him out if it goes horribly and he’s back early?” Louis responds, if not equally as bad as whispering as Liam is.

“I hate you both,” Zayn mumbles, standing from the table. 

“You have to tell us what you’re wearing!” Louis calls after him, Liam’s laugh muffled where his face is pressed into his shoulder. 

“Going to go naked,” Zayn says loudly from his room.

“Bold choice. I like it,” Louis says.

Zayn lets out a loud, strangled sound before kicking his door shut. 

— 

Niall text Zayn sometime Saturday afternoon that he’s running late, had to run to the hospital to check on something. Zayn says he can just meet Niall there, take them to wherever they’re going. 

He makes his way to the Children’s Ward, making sure to wave hello to Jesy. “He’s visiting Lucas,” she says, pointing down the hallway.

Zayn nods in a silent thanks, adjusting his shirt briefly before pausing in the doorway to the room.

There’s a handful of kids in the room, piled onto Lucas’ one and only bed, as Zayn pauses. Niall’s standing in front of them, appearing to be reading a book that he’s holding up — face bright and animated.

He goes unnoticed, for the most part. That is, until a girl — Annabeth, Zayn maybe remembers her name — whispers to her friend beside her. This continues until they’re all staring at Zayn, which is when Niall catches on.

“Oh, hi,” he says. “I um — I’m almost done, here.”

“Hi, Zayn,” one of the children say shyly. 

Zayn smiles, a little. “Hi,” he says back. She giggles.

“Alright, alright. Let’s focus back here, yeah?” Niall says, bringing them back in. They all listen until he’s on the last page, closing the book and everyone claps loudly.

“You guys go back to your rooms and be good, understood?” Niall asks. They all nod, moving to do as they’re told.

“Think she’s got a crush on me,” Zayn says as Niall approaches him.

Niall grins, shrugging. “Don’t think it’s just the one,” he says.

Zayn blinks. “Should go before any of them ask me out on a date,” he says.

“Right you are, Zayn. Let’s go,” Niall agrees.

— 

They end up downtown, on a street Zayn doesn’t know. 

Niall leads the way, down the not-so crowded sidewalk. His fingertips brush against Zayn’s elbow, briefly, which sends goosebumps up along Zayn’s skin. When they finally stop, it’s in front of what looks to be a very old, very abandoned building. Zayn hesitates.

“I don’t. Think anyone’s here,” he says, breaking the silence.

Niall looks at him a moment, before opening the door. “Gotta make sure, at least,” he says.

Once inside it’s soon very clear that this place isn’t very abandoned at all. In the middle of the room there’s a table, with a red and white checkered table cloth — two candles lit in the centre of it. 

“Oh my God,” Zayn says, putting the pieces together. 

Niall looks sheepish in the dim, restaurant lighting. “Harry found this place,” he admits.

“This is — cheesy,” Zayn says. Niall rolls his eyes.

“What was I supposed to do, take you to a crowded restaurant with overpriced food?” he asks. “Come on then, sit.”

He pulls out Zayn’s chair, so Zayn sits. Finds himself rather comfortable as Niall pours them each a glass of wine. “No one’s going to get mad at you for leaving?” Zayn asks after a moment.

“Paid Jesy to cover me,” Niall says. “Had to give her a fifty fucking dollar Starbucks card until she finally agreed.”

Zayn snorts, taking a sip of his wine. Their waiter comes by eventually, taking their orders and chatting with Niall for a bit before heading into the back.

“Come here a lot?” Zayn asks. Niall smirks, leaning back against his chair.

“You know. Sometimes,” he says.

They talk, for the most part. About school, about the hospital — how Niall learned how to play the guitar when he was five and couldn’t reach all the strings with his tiny hands. How he’s got a nephew, Theo, that he misses something awful. How he’s lived with Harry for three years and only regrets one of them, so far.

And he listens when Zayn talks about his sisters, and how misses them. Or how his parents met, back home in California. How he doesn’t surf, and isn’t really a big fan of the water. How he’s known Liam and Louis for almost all of his life, and they’ve been together for nearly half of that amount of time.

And mostly, it’s nice. Comfortable and _easy_ , is the part that gets Zayn the most. The subtle way Niall so easily gets his ankle hooked around Zayn’s. Makes his cheeks flush but he doesn’t move away, keeps his foot right where Niall can still reach it.

“Tell Harry’s he’s a got good taste in restaurants,” Zayn says, hearing Niall snort.

“I picked the wine,” he says, sounding offended.

“That was good too,” Zayn reassures him.

“Good enough for a second date?” Niall asks. Zayn feels warm all over, Niall’s hand covering his on top of the table. It’s warm, just about the same size as Zayn’s.

“I think so,” Zayn says. Niall smiles again, clearly pleased with this answer.

Niall pays the bill (because he’s very insistent on it, apparently), and as they go back out to Zayn’s car, he pauses.

“I um. I have an idea, if you want to come along,” he says after a moment.

Niall hums, opening the passenger’s seat as he gets inside. “I’m all for adventures,” he says, and that’s that.

So Zayn drives.

Just a little way’s out of town, where the roads aren’t so packed and there’s a bit of peace and quiet. Pulls up to a small lookout, one he’d found back in his first year of med school.

“If you tell anyone about this place, I’ll have to kill you,” Zayn says as he looks over at Niall from the driver’s seat.

Niall’s lips are pressed into a thin line of understanding as he laughs quietly, “Alright.”

His gaze noticeably flickers down to Zayn’s lips, then back up to his eyes. It’s a few seconds until Zayn leans forward, and then they’re kissing.

Niall tastes like pizza and wine and some of the chocolate dessert they’d had. His lips are warm and careful and Zayn never wants to stop kissing him. Within just a short time he licks along Niall’s lower lip, the other boy’s mouth opening in eager response. 

“ _God_ ,” Niall pants out against Zayn’s lips.

“Is McSteamy a good enough kisser?” Zayn teases, feeling one of Niall’s hands wrap around the back of his neck gently.

“Shut up,” Niall whines, biting a little at Zayn’s lower lip teasingly. “Better than that.”

Zayn smiles against his lips, feeling something like satisfaction run through him as neither of them making no effort to pull apart. It goes on like this — breathless kissing, eventually Niall getting his lips around Zayn’s almost painfully hard cock in the back seat of his car. Zayn comes with a muffled shout, returning the favour to Niall with his hands down his pants like a bunch of high school kids getting each other off for the first time.

But Zayn wouldn’t have it any other way.

The moon’s out in the sky — bright and clear as Zayn threads his hand through Niall’s hair. Still slightly breathless, both pairs of cheeks coloured pink as Niall presses a kiss to the side of his neck.

“I really like you, Zayn.” He says in the stillness of somewhere close to two in the morning.

Zayn smiles into his hair, pressing a kiss there. “I really like you too, Niall.”

Louis will want to hear every and all details, but for now? For now, he’s going to sit with Niall and not think about anything else except how warm he feels pressed up against Zayn’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblaaaaaaaaaaaah](http://loueh.tumblr.com/). come chat or whatever you'd like.


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